Just Like That
by Matroushka
Summary: They've lived together for four years, but Ron is still pretending to be single. And straight. Ron's behaviour on a night out with the Quidditch team brings things to a head for Harry, and he issues an ultimatum. Slash HPRW


Sometimes, Harry really hated Ron.

He stood at the bar, glowering into his Firewhisky, and clenched his jaw at another burst of raucous laughter from the booth in the corner. The whole Quidditch team was there, celebrating their win, as was the inevitable crowd of star-struck floozies that flocked to them. Someone had had the bright idea of pulling the girls into the booth, to their loud squeals and evident delight, and they were happily draped over several of the players. Including Ron fucking Weasley, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

The pub was packed to the rafters, and the noise was making Harry's headache even worse. He'd had a bastard of a week as it was, and a noisy pub full of drunken Quidditch players and their fans was not a good place to unwind. But he'd seen almost nothing of Ron all week, and felt he couldn't refuse when Ron had asked him to meet him at the pub when he finished work.

Harry and his team had been hot on the trail of a Dark Artefact smuggling ring, so he'd spent most of the week on surveillance, hiding in an abandoned warehouse, and had only been able to snatch the odd hour here and there to pop home. They'd finally arrested the lot of them late on Friday night, to Harry's intense annoyance. Because Friday night arrests led to Saturdays spent questioning suspects and writing reports instead of watching Ron play Quidditch. So he'd really been looking forward to spending some time with Ron after a frustrating day of questioning uncooperative idiots. But when he'd walked into the crowded pub he'd found Ron surrounded by the team and inevitable hangers-on. He'd tried to discreetly catch Ron's eye, but he hadn't seemed to notice Harry standing by the bar.

A high-pitched giggle set Harry's teeth on edge, and he turned his attention back to the booth. He froze as he saw one of the scantily clad groupies wrap her arms around Ron's neck and kiss him passionately, to the cheers of his watching team mates. The glass he was holding shattered in his hand, but the pub was so noisy that no one seemed to notice. Harry closed his eyes for a moment then pushed away from the bar, elbowed his way out of the pub and Apparated home.

-----

Harry flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He'd tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the scene in the pub playing over and over again. He sighed, punched his pillow and wrestled with the duvet, trying to get comfortable. But it was no use. He fumbled for his wand, gave it a sharp flick, and '2.04' shone weakly in the air above him. He huffed loudly, and was just about to give up and go and get a sleeping draught when he heard the sound of the Floo, followed by a crash and muttered swearing.

He slipped quickly out of bed, walked into the living room and turned on the light. Ron was standing in the middle of the room, blinking rapidly and swaying alarmingly. He giggled, and then quickly put his finger to his lips.

"Shhh. You'll wake 'arry up," he said, as he peered at Harry.

"Too late," Harry snapped out. "Sit down before you fucking fall down."

"Harry! Mate!" Ron opened his arms and took a step towards Harry, tripped over his own feet and would have hit the floor if Harry hadn't darted forward to catch him. He dragged Ron over to the couch and dumped him there. Ron muttered something and tried to get up again, but fell back weakly and then slowly keeled over sideways.

Harry summoned a blanket and threw it over him. "More than you deserve, you prick," he said as he flicked off the light and went back to bed.

-----

Ron was still sprawled awkwardly on the too-small couch, snoring loudly, when Harry got up the next morning. He made himself a cup of coffee, then scratched out a quick note warning Ron to be there when he got back from Auror headquarters that afternoon. Then he slipped on his red robes and set off for another stressful day of prisoner interviews on what was supposed to have been his day off.

His team took one look at him as he strode into his office, and scattered. Only Rebecca, his assistant, remained in the room, and she was giving him wary looks.

"Bad night?" she asked as she hesitantly placed a pile of folders on the corner of his desk.

"I didn't get much sleep," Harry said shortly, "and there's something I need to take care of at home, so let's get on with it, shall we?"

He picked up the first folder, briefly flicked through it, then tossed it back onto the desk. "Right. Time to pay the somewhat recalcitrant Mr. Trewnstone another visit. I'm sure I can persuade him to be a little more forthcoming this morning."

-----

There was no sign of Ron in the living room when Harry stepped out of the Floo. He went straight into the bedroom, half expecting to find Ron sleeping off his hangover, but it was empty, as was the bathroom.

He finally found Ron slumped at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms. He looked up as Harry walked past the table, groaned and carefully lowered his head once more.

"Harry? D'you know where the Hangover Potion is? Couldn't find any. I know we had some," Ron mumbled into his arms.

"Yes, we did. I threw it out," Harry said crisply as he slammed the kettle onto the stove.

Ron winced as he slowly pushed himself upright, rubbing his hands over his face as he moaned softly.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because I felt like it."

Harry made two cups of tea, taking every opportunity to make as much noise as he possibly could. He knew it was childish, and felt a tiny pang of guilt when he dumped a cup in front of Ron. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was so pale that every single freckle stood out like brown ink spattered across parchment.

Ron closed his eyes with a grimace. "What did I do?" he asked wearily. "Whatever it was, I'm really, really sorry."

Harry sighed as he dropped into the chair opposite Ron. "You always are, Ron," he said softly. Then he quietly summoned the phial of Hangover Potion he'd hidden in the bedroom and handed it to Ron, who drank it gratefully.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Ron chanted under his breath as he flexed his shoulders and stretched. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "God, that feels better." He took a gulp of his tea, then raised his head and caught Harry's eye. The smile slowly fell from his face. "What happened last night? I didn't see you at the pub. Thought you'd got caught up at work or something. Then Pete invited us back to his place at chucking out time and... It's all a bit hazy after that, actually."

"I was there. At the pub. You didn't see me, though. You were too busy pawing some blonde who was rubbing her tits all over you while inspecting your tonsils."

Ron's eyes widened, and Harry saw his throat working as he swallowed before saying, "Oh. You saw that." He cleared his throat, then went on quickly, "Look, that was nothing. Just messing around, that's all. All the blokes were doing it. It's expected. I don't know who she was, just some tart. They're always hanging around. Doesn't mean anything, you know that."

"Do I? I saw your Seeker and one of the Chasers fending them off with no trouble."

"Yeah, but that's different. They're married. No one expects them to do anything. But the rest of us are single and -" Ron's mouth snapped shut, a look of horror crossing his face. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that the blokes know I'm not married so they expect me to have a bit of fun with the girls. I mean, they'd think it was odd if I didn't. That's all. You don't understand, Harry. I -"

"No," Harry interrupted sharply as he pushed himself to his feet. "No. I understand perfectly." Then he turned away and strode out of the kitchen, Ron hot on his heels.

"Please, Harry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, any of it, I promise. Look, can we sit down and talk about this, please?"

Harry spun around and glared at Ron. "Talk about what? I've had enough. I won't be your dirty little secret any longer. I love you, you fucking bastard, but that doesn't seem to count for a thing. I've put up with this shit for years. But no more. You don't want anyone finding out you take it up the arse? Well, congratulations. You've got nothing to worry about any more."

"I'm sorry," Ron said desperately.

"You always fucking are," Harry spat as he Disapparated.

-----

Ron slumped onto the couch and swore loudly. This wasn't supposed to happen. If he hadn't still been suffering the aftermath of the hangover from hell, he'd have known what to say. Handled it better. After all, this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument. He'd always been able to smooth things over before. But Harry hadn't even listened to him, this time. He'd just shouted at him and then stormed off in a huff. Ron sighed as he massaged his temples. His head was throbbing again, so he stretched out on the couch and stuffed a pillow under his head. As he closed his eyes, he consoled himself with the thought that Harry would be back once he'd calmed down a bit. And then Ron would talk to him. Make him see reason. It would be all right.

But Harry didn't come home that night, and when Ron tried to contact him at work the following morning, he was curtly informed that Auror Potter was unavailable. Ron left a message for him and headed off to training. But his mind wasn't on Quidditch, and after almost getting his head knocked off by a Bludger, he pleaded illness and left early.

He made his way to the Ministry building and headed directly to the second floor, signing several autographs on the way. As he stepped into the main office area, a young Auror bustled past him, then stopped and turned quickly.

"You're Ron Weasley!" she said with a wide smile. "My little brother's got posters of you all over his bedroom walls! Could I get your autograph for him? He's a mad Cannons fan, and says you're the best Keeper they've ever had."

"Oh, er, yeah, of course," Ron said. He followed her to a small cubicle, and signed a copy of _Quidditch Monthly _that the Auror produced sheepishly from a drawer in her desk.

"Thank you so much," she said as she carefully locked the magazine away again. "He'll be thrilled to bits." She smiled brightly at him, and then suddenly seemed to realise that she was still at work. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Amy Robson. I'm an Auror."

Ron raised an eyebrow as he pointedly looked at her robes. "I guessed as much," he said with a straight face.

Amy blushed, then drew herself up and said, "How can the Auror department be of service?"

"Actually, I just dropped in to see Harry."

"Oh, sorry, he's not here. His team are off up in Scotland somewhere. Got a lead on some -" She broke off abruptly, and grimaced. "Sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all this stuff. Not supposed to discuss department business with civilians. Look, he should be back in a day or so. Do you want to leave a message for him?"

"No. It's okay. I'll catch up with him when he gets back. It was nice to meet you, Auror Robson."

"The pleasure was all mine," she said with a wink. "Don't hesitate to drop in again. Anytime."

Ron smiled politely as he beat a hasty retreat.

The days dragged. Auror Potter continued to be unavailable, and when Ron grew desperate enough to contact Amy Robson, she told him that Harry's team was still in Scotland, but that she was free on Friday evening. Ron ignored the hint. Even if he hadn't, she would have been disappointed, because as it turned out, Ron's Friday evening was unexpectedly busy.

"Weasley. A word in your shell-like," the team captain barked as Ron climbed off his broom. "The rest of you can hit the showers. Get a good night's rest. We've got a busy day tomorrow, girls and boys."

Training had been a disaster. As the week had worn on, Ron had become more and more distracted, worrying about the unresolved situation with Harry. And Friday's training session had been the worst of the lot.

"That was fucking abysmal, Ron. What the hell are you playing at?"

Ron exhaled heavily. "Sorry, Mike. I've got some things on my mind. Stuff at home."

"This has been going on all week, mate. If you don't pull yourself together I'm going to have to replace you. We're playing the Tornados tomorrow, and I need my Keeper to be on top form." Mike pursed his lips, frowning at Ron for a moment, before saying, "Get changed and wait for me. We're going for a pint. Just you and me."

Ron followed Mike to the local Muggle pub that the players used when they wanted a quiet drink away from their adoring fans. He took a seat at a table in a quiet corner, and sat staring dejectedly at the tabletop while Mike bought the first round.

"Get that into you," Mike said as he took the seat opposite Ron. Ron picked up the glass and took a tentative sip. He didn't really like Muggle beer that much, but then he rather thought that was the point. Drinking the night before a game was frowned upon, and the team captain wasn't going to let him get drunk. He placed the glass carefully on the beer mat, and looked up as Mike said, "How long have we known each other, Ron?"

"Four years, give or take," Ron said automatically. "Ever since I joined the Cannons."

"Four years. And in all that time you've never said a word about your personal life. Never mentioned having anyone at home. Never invited anyone to your place, come to that. Nobody really minds. We all know about the war and all the shit you went through. Stands to reason you like your privacy." Mike paused for a moment, as though to gather his thoughts, then said, "This is the first time you've let something personal affect your game, Ron, and -"

"I'm sorry, Mike. I know I've been a mess this week, but I'll be fine for the game tomorrow, I promise," Ron interrupted quickly.

"Ron, just listen to me for a minute, eh?" Mike said. "I'm here as your friend, not your captain, okay? I'm not having a go at you. It happens to everyone. Some more than others, granted, but everybody's had an off day because they've had a row with the missus or their girlfriend's left them or something. But you never have. Not once in the whole time you've been with the team. And then all of a sudden you start to play like an amateur. Your mind's clearly not on what you're doing, and it's been like that all week. Now, if this were Jenny, or Pete, I'd give them a day off and tell them to sort it out or else."

Ron nodded. Jenny Thwaites and Pete Whistlecraft were the team's Chasers, and both seemed to thrive on domestic drama. Barely a week passed without one or other of them having some sort of crisis.

"But you're a whole different kettle of fish, my son, and I've got no idea what your problem is. Or what I can do to help."

"There's nothing you can do, Mike. I just need to talk to Har -" Ron broke off abruptly. He glanced quickly at Mike, who hadn't seemed to notice his slip, then continued, "I mean, I've just got to sort this out for myself."

Mike nodded amiably. "If you say so." He took a gulp of his beer, then said, "So, this problem at home. She got a name?"

Ron suppressed a wince at the automatic assumption that he was living with a girlfriend. It really shouldn't have bothered him. After all, he'd never given even the slightest hint of anything to the contrary. But for some reason it suddenly grated.

"Look, I really don't want to talk about it, Mike. I appreciate you trying to help, but -"

"Because," Mike interrupted, "you've never let on that you had anybody at home. We all assumed you lived alone. Recent thing, is it?"

"No, we've been together for years."

The moment he said it, Ron desperately wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Because there was no way Mike would leave this alone now.

Sure enough, there was a doggedly determined glint in Mike's eye as he said, "That long? Now that does surprise me. Because after seeing what you get up to on a Saturday night out with the team, I'd have said you were definitely single." Mike gave Ron an assessing look, then continued, "It's just that, if I carried on the way you do, my Theresa would have my bollocks. And I wouldn't blame her. No offence," he added after a moment.

Ron frowned. "It's not like we're married or anything," he said defensively.

"Is that right? Have separate bedrooms then, do you?"

Ron felt his face heat up as he shook his head.

Mike sighed. "Ron, mate. I don't know much about women, but what I do know has been learnt the hard way, so let me give you the benefit, all right? Doesn't matter if they've got a ring on their finger or not. If you're living with them, and you want to keep on living with them, you'd better bloody well behave as if you're married, or you're in for a world of fucking aggravation." He paused, then added, "As you've apparently just discovered."

"It's not like that, Mike. You don't understand. It's complicated."

Mike snorted as he shook his head. "It always fucking is, mate. Look, I don't know what you had a row about, or whose fault it was. Though I doubt I'd be wrong if I said it was yours." He held up a hand in a quelling motion as Ron opened his mouth to object. "Am I wrong?"

Ron glared at his captain for a moment, and then exhaled loudly as he shook his head. He'd done a lot of thinking this week, and while he was still confused about a lot of things, that was the one thing he was very certain about. It was definitely his fault.

"That's what I thought. Time to swallow your pride, then. Just go home and say sorry. Buy her something nice. That, and a bit of grovelling and an abject apology, and it's all sorted."

"I wish it were that easy," Ron said glumly. "You can't apologise if they're not there."

"Gone home to mum, has she?" Mike said. He gave Ron a look of sympathy, and it was suddenly too much.

Ron slumped forward wearily, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his chin in his hand. He felt thoroughly miserable. His life was falling apart, and it was entirely his own fault. None of this would have happened if he'd been honest about the fact that he was living with Harry in the first place. That's all Harry wanted. Letting that little blonde slobber all over him hadn't helped, but Harry knew it hadn't meant anything, Ron was certain of that. What had really upset Harry was the fact that Ron was pretending to be straight. And single. That, and the stupidly insensitive things he'd said the next day, which had only made matters worse.

Ron knew all that. And yet he was still doing it. Mike had assumed that Ron was having problems with a girlfriend, and Ron was just going along with it. He felt suddenly sick.

"Ron?"

Mike's voice pulled Ron out of his self-flagellation, and Ron glanced up at him. Mike had a look of concern on his face, and Ron huffed softly. Mike really did mother the team. He was a good captain, and a good mate, and suddenly the decision was made.

"Sorry. Just thinking about something. Well, trying to decide something, really. I..." Ron swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, picked up his beer and took a long drink. He held the glass, staring at the amber liquid for a moment before continuing, "I don't live with a girl, Mike. I'm gay."

There was a long silence. Mike finally cleared his throat and said slowly, "Well, that explains why you haven't been terribly forthcoming about your domestic arrangements. I know some of the blokes can be a bit mouthy about that sort of thing. But you wouldn't be the first by a long chalk, mate. And I hope you know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn't tolerate any of them giving you grief over it."

"I know that, Mike," Ron said wearily. "That's not the reason I kept it quiet. Well, I suppose it was, a bit, but it's more complicated than that. You see, my... The bloke I..." Ron exhaled loudly. "He's really famous, and if it got out it'd be all over the papers, and I just don't want to have to deal with that, you know?"

"_He's_ really famous? You're not exactly a complete unknown yourself, Ron," Mike said with a chuckle. "Who is he, for fuck's sake, Harry Potter?" His eyes widened as he saw the look of resignation on Ron's face. "I don't fucking believe this," he muttered.

"You see why I've kept it quiet?"

Mike nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So why are you telling me this now?"

"Because that's what the argument was about. He wants to tell people about us. I don't mean take out an ad in the Prophet or anything. But he doesn't want to pretend that we're just friends any more."

Mike pursed his lips as he stared off into the distance for a moment. Then he exhaled loudly and said, "So what are you going to do?"

Harry stood in the middle of the bedroom and stared at the unmade bed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes against the twist of pain in his chest. Ron's scent surrounded him and it was almost enough to break his resolve. He missed him so much. But he couldn't do it any more. He couldn't live like this. And Ron didn't seem to understand that. He seemed happy to pretend that Harry was just his friend in public. He hadn't even told his family about them, and Harry was tired of being treated as though he was simply an incidental in Ron's life.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and began sorting through the drawer, pulling out a few things that he'd need. He shoved them into the bag on the bed, and then went to the wardrobe. He pulled a couple of pairs of trousers off their hangers, folded and packed them, and was trying to decide which shirts to take when he heard the sound of the Floo. He closed the wardrobe door, took a deep breath as he quickly reviewed what he was going to say to Ron, and then turned towards the bedroom door. A moment later the door opened and Ron stood there, unmoving, in the doorway.

"Hello, Ron," Harry said softly.

"Oh, God, Harry."

And he was suddenly grabbed in a bear hug, and Ron was kissing him desperately. Harry closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Ron and held him tightly for a moment. Then he deliberately broke the kiss and took a step back.

"No. We're not doing this again, Ron. This is what happens every time."

A look of pain crossed Ron's face. He moved closer, and Harry quickly stepped back again.

"We need to talk, Ron. I'm serious."

Ron nodded and he took a step back, which gave him a clear view of the room. And Harry knew the exact moment that Ron saw the bag he'd been packing, still sitting in the middle of the bed, because his face fell and his shoulders slumped. His gaze flicked to Harry's face for a moment, and then he looked away, saying, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I just... I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Harry said softly. "But I won't do this any more, Ron. We've lived together for almost four years now; I've been your dirty little secret for four bloody years, and I've had enough. When we first moved in together, I agreed to keep it quiet because you promised me it would just be for a little while. Just while we settled into our jobs, and our relationship. You had a point; I can see that. It was all so new, and we didn't need the added pressure of a lot of publicity and gossip. And I know it could have been awkward for you just starting out with the Cannons. Quidditch players aren't exactly noted for their tact and diplomacy."

"I wasn't just thinking about me," Ron said defensively. "It could have caused problems for you at work, too. I mean, I'm not the only one who's going to face a lot of gossip and unwanted publicity if we go public, Harry. How's that going to affect your position with the DMLE?"

Harry sighed. "My boss already knows. As does my team."

"What! You told them?"

"Of course I bloody told them! I'm a Senior Auror, for fuck's sake. I can't keep something like that a secret. I'd be leaving myself wide open to blackmail, or worse. And what if something happened to me? Didn't you ever wonder why you were the first person contacted whenever I was injured? Or why you were always let in to visit me at St. Mungo's, no questions asked? You're listed as my next of kin, you fucking idiot!" Harry huffed loudly and shook his head. "It's not like everyone knew. Only my boss, and my team, and I handpicked them myself. I rely on them to keep me alive, Ron. I trust every single one of them."

"Oh. Right. Never thought of that," Ron said, seeming to suddenly deflate.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and sighed as his sudden burst of anger melted away, leaving him feeling cold and tired. He stepped over to the bed and sat down, patting the space next to him as he said, "Sit down, Ron."

As Ron sat awkwardly next to him, Harry turned to face him. He reached out and took hold of Ron's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Then, staring into Ron's eyes, he said, "I only came back tonight to pick up a few things. I think we both need some time to sort out what it is that we want. You need to sort out what you want, Ron."

Ron closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, they looked suspiciously bright. "I know what I want. I want you to come home, Harry. I love you. I'll do whatever you want me to. I'll take out an advert on the front page of the fucking _Prophet_ if that's what you want. And I'm not just saying it this time. I really mean it. I've... I've already told Mike about us."

Harry was taken aback. This wasn't the first time they'd had this argument, and Harry had always given in. Always been the one to back down. So he was totally unprepared to hear Ron say that he'd actually told someone about them, and was quite frankly floundering a bit. He stared at Ron blankly for a moment, and finally said, "You really told your team captain about us?"

Ron slowly nodded. "We had a long talk after training. He's going to come with me to talk to the club's public relations people on Monday. He said I needed to warn them, so they can handle the press side of things once it becomes public knowledge. And I thought we could go and see Mum and Dad on Sunday. We should probably tell them before they read about it in the newspapers."

Harry simply stared at Ron in shock as his words slowly sank in. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Just like that?"

"What?" Ron's brow furrowed as he gave Harry a confused look.

"Just like that," Harry repeated. "I've been trying to get you to tell your family and our friends about us for years. And you just suddenly decide to do it. Just like that."

"Well, it wasn't quite that simple," Ron said. He looked sheepish, and Harry could see the colour rise in his face, staining his cheeks a dull red. "I really missed you, and...well, I wasn't sure you were coming back, this time. I thought you'd finally had enough and left me for good. I was a wreck, to be honest. Mike pulled me aside to have a bit of a chat, and we got talking, and he sort of had a go at me, about the way I'd been behaving. And what he said, well, it made sense. He told me to pull my head out of my arse, basically, and to go home and do what I had to, to sort it out. So that's what I'm doing."

"You're really going to do this?"

Harry hated the pathetically hopeful note that he heard in his own, plaintive words, but they seemed to strike a chord with Ron, who raised his chin and looked Harry square in the eye.

"Yes," he said, a look of determination on his face.

A smile slowly broke out on Harry's face. He reached out and cupped Ron's cheek in his hand and said, "I do love you, you know."

"Soppy bastard," Ron said with a grin. Then he slowly leant forward and captured Harry's lips. They both moaned as the kiss deepened, and Harry let himself fall back onto the bed, pulling Ron down on top of him.

"God, I missed you," Ron muttered against Harry's jaw as he nuzzled against him. They were tugging at each other's clothes impatiently, and Harry sniggered as Ron huffed in frustration and sat up again, frantically dragging his shirt over his head. Harry pushed himself up and began undressing. He was still untying his shoelaces when Ron pushed his hands away and tugged his boots and socks off in two quick movements. Then Ron flung himself onto the bed and lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, watching as Harry slowly shimmied out of his trousers.

Harry stood at the side of the bed for a moment as his eyes raked over Ron's naked body, his gaze lingering on the hard cock rising from its nest of curls. He crawled onto the bed and hovered over Ron for a moment, before leaning in and capturing his lips in a demanding kiss.

"You're mine. Don't ever forget that," he whispered against Ron's lips. Then he held out a hand and wordlessly summoned the lube. Ron reached for the bottle, but Harry shook his head. "Not tonight," he said. "Tonight your arse is mine, Weasley."

Ron's eyes widened. "But it's Friday, Harry," he protested. "I'm playing tomorrow."

"That's the point," Harry said as reached down and ran his finger lightly down the length of Ron's hardness. "You're going feel me every second you're on that broom." Then he leant in once more, nipping a line along Ron's jaw until he reached his ear, sucking the lobe before giving it a nip with his teeth. Ron shuddered beneath him, and Harry whispered, "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be lucky if you can sit on your broom at all."

Before Ron could protest further, Harry slithered down the bed and sucked the hard flesh into his mouth. Ron moaned, spreading his legs as he thrust up wantonly. Taking this as tacit permission to continue, Harry slowly sucked him as he quickly prepared them both.

Ron gasped out a curse as Harry slammed into him, and his fingernails bit into Harry's arms as his body fought to adjust to the sudden rough intrusion. Harry stilled for a moment, then savagely claimed Ron's mouth in a bruising kiss, bending Ron almost painfully in half as he thrust into him again and again. Their coupling was primal as Harry determinedly wiped out every trace of anyone who had ever touched his lover, and when Ron finally howled out his orgasm, Harry came so hard his vision greyed out for a moment. Sated, he slumped on top of Ron, and both of them lay gasping like landed fish until they finally caught their breath enough to move.

Harry rolled off to one side, worried that he was squashing Ron, and Ron winced. Harry immediately sat up, determined to check that he hadn't caused any real damage, but Ron's arm shot out and he grabbed Harry and pulled him down into his arms again.

"I'm fine," Ron said as he nuzzled against Harry's hair. "I don't need you fussing at me."

Harry huffed softly and tilted his head so that he could kiss Ron. "I didn't mean to be quite that rough," he admitted. "Just got a bit carried away."

Ron gave him a lop-sided grin and said, "You always bloody do."

"And you love it," Harry retorted, a smug look on his face.

"Well, yeah, 'course I do," Ron said, his grin morphing into a leer as his hand squeezed Harry's arse. "I just wish I wasn't going to have to sit on a broomstick for hours on end tomorrow, that's all."

"Want me to do a healing charm?"

"Nah," Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "I can always do one tomorrow if I really need it."

Harry nodded against Ron's neck, and felt Ron's arms tighten around him.

"It'll be okay, won't it?" Ron said softly. Simple words, but Harry heard the uncertainty there, the need for reassurance, and he raised his head to gaze into Ron's eyes. He wanted to tell Ron that he loved him more than life itself. That watching that girl kiss him had been like a knife in his heart and that he couldn't go through that again. That threatening to leave Ron had almost killed him. That they could face anything together.

But Ron knew all that. So he simply said, "Yes," and then kissed him again.

And it was enough.

-----

Written for the First Line Challenge on Harry and Ron livejournal community


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